The club is loud, crowded, the air thick with heat and bass. I should be celebrating the race, caught up in the energy of the night, but my attention is locked on her.

She’s not the kind of girl I usually notice. My type has always been obvious - tall, slim, the kind that turns heads effortlessly. But she’s different. Her curves fill out her dress in a way that makes my gaze linger longer than it should. There’s something about her, something unshaken by the chaos around us.

She doesn’t see me at first. She’s laughing with her friend, sipping her drink, shifting slightly like she’s never quite sure what to do with herself. Then her eyes flicker up, landing on me.

Her entire body stiffens.

Recognition washes over her face, followed by something else - panic? No, nerves. She knows who I am.

I smirk slightly and make my way over before she talks herself into disappearing.

“Hey.” I say, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music.

Her fingers tighten around her glass. “Hi.” Her voice is soft, uncertain.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.” I tease.

She laughs, quick and breathy. “More like a world-famous driver in my favorite sport.”

“Ah,” I nod, pretending to consider. “So you’re a fan?”

Her cheeks darken. “Yeah. Which makes this even more intimidating.”

I tilt my head, intrigued. “Intimidating?”

She exhales sharply, eyes darting away. “You’re… you. And I’m… not the kind of girl you’d talk to.”

That catches me off guard. “And what kind of girl do you think I talk to?”

She hesitates, then shrugs. “Not me.”

I don’t know why that bothers me. Maybe because she’s right. Or maybe because, right now, I can’t look at anyone else.